THE UNNECESSARILY loud bell of the quadrangle clock struck six. Helvetica Bold wrapped a bath towel round her shoulders and stumbled out of the dorm into the toilet block. Even while she had been disentangling herself from her girlfriend's clutches, Valentina hadn't stirred in her sleep. Thinking of Valentina reminded her of last night in the kitchen next door to Miss Grimbo's room. Had it really happened? God! Her tits were even more sore this morning, bad news with a netball match coming up after school. They felt unusually heavy, too, almost bouncy. Despite what Miss Gruntworthy had said, Helvetica realised it was about time she saw Miss Clitress about a bra. This very morning. She sloshed water over her face and neck before straightening up to stare blearily at herself in the mirror.
"Oh, fuck me!"
She was instantly wide awake. Experimentally, she pressed a finger against the side of the bulging mound. It went in up to the second knuckle. She placed her hands underneath them and raised them two or three times. Heavy. Full. Tingling like crazy, especially round the ends where the moons stood out so proudly. Helvetica turned sideways to study the effect. Unbelievable! If she had sliced a grapefruit in half it would still not have been as big as those things on the ends of her tits. They were bigger than the rest of her breasts put together. She shook her head, leaning on the washbasin with both hands. The position pushed her breasts together in the middle, giving her a bizarre cleavage. Hastily, she stood up straight, blushing prettily.
Miss Clitress would never have a bra this shape in stock. It would take hours, days, to get one to fit her. She hid them quickly. No other girls were up and about yet, but she didn't want anyone to see her like this. She hurried back to the dorm, thought briefly about climbing back in with the comforting warmth of Valentina, then changed her mind. Not even Valentina should see her looking this way.
The sheets of her own bed were icy cold against her bottom, but she made herself put on two T-shirts and a school blouse before lying down, her teeth chattering loud enough to wake the whole school. And there she lay as the bed slowly thawed out, and all around her the girls snored and snuffled and made rude noises in the last hour before the bell woke them up. At least, being already fully dressed above the waist, Helvetica wouldn't have to endure the stares of her classmates.
Changing for the netball match was going to be difficult, later. Perhaps she could pretend to be sick. Letting down the team! Bringing shame to St Cat's! Helvetica Bold fell asleep three minutes before the bell clanged her wide awake.
"We're just waiting for Miss Grimbeau, ladies. Take your seats, please."
I scratched at my groin behind the barricade of my leather topped desk. Even a thorough going over with the shampoo had failed to rid my pubic hair of the last sticky traces of drinking chocolate. The itchiness was a reminder of what had happened last night. It wasn't a dream.
Corinne and Smegs seemed to be having the same trouble. They sat down stiffly and carefully, leaving a vacant chair between them. Miss Malone was glowing in her tracksuit, having just returned from one of her pre-breakfast half marathons. She needed a shower. Sitting between her and the fidgety Corinne, Miss Lundberg looked distinctly uncomfortable.
We occupied ourselves with trivial tasks. I pushed a few sheets of paper around on the desk top. Smegs was straightening her tenth paperclip. She had a sudden idea and fashioned her eleventh paperclip into an elaborately shaped hook. She began to pick her nose with it. I took the box of paperclips away from her before she could think of even more perverted uses for them.
There was a shriek from the outer office, and the sound of a slap. Then the door burst open and Angelica came in, looking quite appallingly radiant. She breezed up behind Miss Malone's and Miss Lundberg's chairs and leaned over to grab a handful of each of their breasts.
Twin squeals rang out in living stereo. Miss Malone and Miss Lundberg scrambled out of their seats and plunged for the door, colliding with the equally outraged Miss Labia. The three of them tumbled out of the office and the door slammed behind them. Indignant howls reached us.
But we were in no mood to listen to indignant howls. There was no time.
"Cee, hon!" Angelica plunged both hands up to the wrists into Corinne's blouse and brought out a pair of prize watermelons. Corinne squeaked in half protest. Smegs watched for a millisecond or so before throwing her disgusting paperclip away and clutching at Angelica's scarlet latex bottom.
"Mee-gan, baby!" Up came Smegs's sweater and Angelica's face disappeared into the murky darkness to lap noisily at Mee-gan's cute lil' navel.
I was wondering whether to call the meeting to order, but decided to go with the flow for a while. Talking of flow, I was already drenched. I imagined the effect of the last traces of drinking chocolate down there mingling with my intimate juices. The pantie sorters would need to call for a second opinion. Meanwhile, as I rose from my seat and squelched round the desk to join in the action, I had a chance to take in Angelica's appearance. Apart from the scarlet latex skirt, she was wearing a black silk shirt as usual, but all too obviously she was wearing nothing underneath.
Her unaccustomed fullness showed at the sides of her breasts. They were noticeably wider than her body, jiggling heavily in the sheer silk. But the front was the best part. The best by miles. Corinne's estimate of half coconut-sized areolae was quite accurate. And each half coconut was crowned with a nipple the size of the end of my thumb. Possibly they were the same size as some more common household objects, such as dressmakers' thimbles, wine corks or those plastic caps that fit on the ends of the thick marker pens you use for writing the addresses on parcels. I even toyed with the idea of shot glasses, but I hadn't a clue what a shot glass was. It sounded vaguely dangerous.
All of which shows the power of the human brain. I was able to think all that while galumphing at maximum revolutions round the side of my desk and simultaneously tearing off my blouse to reveal a mighty royal purple ScatBra designed to contain a bust very nearly twice the circumference of Smegs's.
"Oh, put them away, Chauntaille!"
"Headmistress, honey!"
The familiarity jarred a little, I must admit, but there was no doubting the sincerity of Angelica's greeting as she flung herself upon me. I reeled backwards on to the desk top with Angelica on top of me, her face buried in my overheated cleavage. Together we slithered across the green leather, and I dumped something like a full Shannie-load of juice on to my blotter. That's a lot of juice. Ask anyone who really knows me.
Corinne had recovered from the initial shock of the greeting and joined us up top, helping Angelica out of her blouse while she was otherwise occupied with my bosom. Smegs, her face lighting up like a beacon, slid the squeaky latex skirt up around Angelica's funky bits and dived in, snuffling like a pedigree boxer. Smegs knows what she likes.
Lying there with my legs clasped round Angelica's waist, it occurred to me that the standard of manners is really falling these days. So far, almost three minutes had elapsed, and none of us had yet had the politeness even to say "Good Morning, Angelica!"
"Where did you get to last night?" the anonymous girl wanted to know.
"Me?" Valentina's face radiated purity and innocence. She folded a sausage into a last slice of fried bread and anointed it with ketchup. The squeeze bottle made disgraceful noises that reminded her of the night before. Helvetica sat at the breakfast table with eyes downcast.
Helvetica was eating a halved grapefruit. It reminded her of her moons. God, they're even bigger than this grapefruit, she thought.
The other girls stared at her curiously. Nobody had yet mentioned that she had disappeared before lights out, too. "What are you all staring at?" The other girls dropped their gaze to their breakfast. "You're all the bloody same!" And poor Helvetica scraped back her chair and hurried out.
"What's eating her?"
"Must be her time of the month."
"Her tits do look a bit big."
"Long as it doesn't screw her up for the netball."
"If she's not going to eat that sausage, toss it over here."
Helvetica wandered along the winding path through the woods for a while before deciding. She headed straight for the bra measuring facility and tried the door. It was locked. She rattled the handle in frustration.
"Fuck off!"
"Please, Miss Clit?"
"What do you want? We're not open for another hour."
"It's urgent. Desperate! Please!"
Something in the tone of Helvetica's appeal must have tugged at whatever Miss Clitress had in place of heart strings. The door opened a few inches.
"Yes? I told you, we're shut. Stocktaking," she added in an attempt to make it more convincing.
"Please, Miss Clit. I need a bra urgently. Look!"
She stuck out her chest a little and moulded her blouse around herself before assuming a round shouldered stance once more.
Clit looked out both ways, then opened the door wider for a second. Helvetica slipped inside.
"Let's have a look at you. Why aren't you wearing a bra?"
"Miss Gruntworthy told me not to."
"Miss...?" Clit was speechless. "She did what?"
"She said I was growing too fast and I'd outgrow a bra in a couple of days. But they hurt, Miss Clit!"
"Take your top off. Hurry up!" She watched as Helvetica turned her back and slipped out of her blouse, and raised her eyebrows as she hung the two T-shirts over the back of a chair. "You feel the cold?"
"I was trying to hide them." Helvetica turned round.
"Fucking hell! I can see why!" Clit walked round the girl, inspecting her. "Does this hurt?"
"Ouch!"
"Sorry, love. They're really sore, aren't they?"
"Yeah."
"That silly woman. Hmm. Getting heavy, too. Here, let's have a look at you. Arms up!"
Miss Clitress's fingers were icy but reassuring. She fussed around with the tape measure, pausing to scribble things in her notebook. Finally, she tapped a load of figures into a calculator and frowned at the result.
"You're in luck. I've been developing something myself. Specially for special girls. Here, try this." It was in a plastic bag with the familiar ScatBra logo. Unusually, the bra was in a delicate pink shade. Almost feminine.
"Can I try it on?" Helvetica held the bra up in front of her. Which way was up?
"Is it your first?"
"Apart from a trainer."
"Come on. Like this. Lean forward a bit. That's a good girl. There. How's that feel?"
It felt good. So good, Helvetica felt tears come into her eyes. "It's nice," she said.
"So it ought to be, with all the work that's gone into that design. It hides some of that strange shape you extra puffy girls get when you start growing. Now the only trouble is, it isn't as adjustable as a regular Scatty, so you'll need to come back as soon as it starts getting tight on you. Okay?"
Helvetica nodded, unable to speak. To her amazement, Miss Clitress suddenly hugged her tight.
"Silly. You should have come and seen me anyway, never mind what that daft Miss Gruntworthy said. You'll be able to play netball in that, won't you!"
Helvetica nodded again. Miss Clitress knew she played netball!
"You're playing tonight? Over at Shagnasty High School?"
"Shackenhurst. I'm captain."
"I know. I've watched you all practising. All with your lovely long legs and big round bottoms in those tight little shorts. I used to be good at games until I grew these knockers. Make the most of it, young Helvetica!"
She even knows my name!
"The boys will be going crazy for you. You'll find you do bounce a bit in this bra, but not enough to make it uncomfortable. In fact, you might find it feels quite pleasant. Put your blouse back on and see how beautiful you look."
"Wow!" Helvetica looked down into Miss Clitress's eyes, blushing prettily. "I look so big!"
"It's padding, but a lot of it is still you in there. You're a thirty-eight bust, after all. And later on, when you start filling out, it won't look as if you've suddenly blossomed. You're lovely and tall, so you can carry it off. Not like me, a little squirt. Okey-dokey? Right, here's two more."
Helvetica floated out of the bra measuring facility with two plastic bags. One pale blue, one turquoise. A brand new design specially for special girls! She read the label again then hugged the two new bras to her comfortably full thirty-eight inch chest. Wrong! It wasn't a chest any more, it was a Bust! The ScatBra PuffMaster. As she turned the corner into the quad, Valentina appeared from the other direction, looked both ways, then marched boldly up to the door of the bra measuring facility.
"Fuck off! We're closed."
"You're going to have to sort that girl out, Miss Gruntworthy!" Miss Labia had come in to open the window. "Miss Malone and Miss Lundberg are most upset."
"Has she gone?" I said.
"Yes. Gone to organise her cheerleaders, she said. Big game tonight. She even squeezed my ... my breasts!"
I got the impression that Miss Labia hadn't really minded all that much. "It's just her way of being friendly," I said. "She's American."
Miss Labia snorted and stalked out.
"Come on, Cee. Time to get up. She's gone. Smegs, you too."
My colleagues failed to rouse themselves. Smegs lay on the rug, flat out on her back like a starfish. Corinne was draped in my chair, totally whacked out. Her bust looked even fuller this morning. There was a lot of this sort of thing going on lately. Poor darlings. Angelica was so exhausting. I had only survived myself because I had been underneath throughout the onslaught. I may even have slept briefly.
"Come on, wakey-wakey. Rise and shine." Corinne opened one weary eye and I lugged her upright. Smegs, utterly naked on her back, took a little longer to awake. Miss Labia solved the problem with a mug of cold water. Smegs sat up, blinking and groaning and dabbing at her groin.
We all sipped scalding hot coffee and considered our next move.
"She's hornier than ever," Corinne muttered disbelievingly.
"It's a pity the antidote for Uncontrollable Horniness isn't reliable enough," said Smegs.
"Controllable Unhorniness? Wouldn't it work on Angelica?"
Smegs shook her head. "It works by setting a datum level in the Horniness centre of the brain. The first effect is always to increase the Horniness level to the maximum, then to lower it in a controlled manner."
"Why wouldn't that work on her?"
"Her start level is so high. She is basically so horny in her normal state, that by the time she gets an attack of Uncontrollable Horniness, she is already way past all known levels. Way beyond anything we have experienced before." Smegs shook her head and enjoyed a brief orgasm or two. We waited politely until she felt able to continue. "If we were to give her Controllable Unhorniness, she would probably explode or something."
"Explode? Angelica?"
"Not literally. But she could remain permanently damaged. It wouldn't be pleasant."
"The poor kid!" Corinne regarded her nipples, which were slowly becoming erect.
Miss Labia came in and closed the window again. "More coffee, Labia, please," I demanded. "And stop listening at the door."
"Well, there's only one way of dealing with it that we know of," I said when she had gone out, grumbling like an appendix. "We're going to have to grow Angelica again."
"What?"
"You crazy?"
"It kept her quiet for half a day. If I get a girl to cream her again today, it will get us through the next twelve hours without becoming the victims of another of her one-woman gang-rapes. It will give us time to recover. We can't think of a solution while we're totally knackered, can we?"
"But you know what Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus Special Brew Two will do to the poor girl?" Corinne had a look of near-panic on her face.
"It will make her breasts and her puffies grow. We just have to accept that as an unwanted side-effect."
"Unwanted?" Smegs looked at me with her mouth open. "I never thought I'd live to hear you say that, Chauntaille."
"Well, it's not an altogether welcome side-effect. But it is quite nice. Anyway, it ought to be necessary to do it just this once, provided we can keep out of her way when the effects of the growing wear off and she starts getting Uncontrollably Horny again. By then, our brainpower will have come up with an answer."
"I wish I had your faith, Shannie!"
"Hey, guess what, Vets! We've got a job. At lunchtime. You and me!"
"Us? What doing?"
"Creaming Miss Grimbo!"
"Do what? But look how big her boobs got when you did it yesterday!
"Yeah! But Miss Gruntworthy must want them even bigger. She's told us to give her another good dose, same again. We've got to explain to Miss Grimbo that it's a special cream to stop your legs getting too hairy in a cold climate."
"But we rub it on her tits?"
"It's nearer the heart, Vets."
"Oh!"
"Anyway, I've got the stuff. And I put something special of my own into it, to speed it up a bit."
"But it worked in a few hours anyway."
"Life's too short, Vets! I want to see some action by tonight, at the netball match."
"You want Miss Grimbo to be even bigger by then?"
"Not just Miss Grimbo!" Valentina displayed her most feral grin. Everybody! There's so much of the stuff in that tub, there'll be enough for the whole team."
"The netball team? You're going to cream them, too?"
"You won't catch me with my hands on their tits! No, they can have a little dob on each moon to rub in themselves. By tonight, we really will be the St Cat's Puffies!"
"I THOUGHT this was a co-educational school, Smegs."
We huddled together in a blanket on the wooden benches at the back of the sports hall of Shagnasty High, as it was known locally. Below us and on all sides was a sea of boys' faces. Prominent adam's apples bobbled and sparse growths of fuzzy bum-fluff adorned acne-bespeckled slack-lipped faces. Hoarse voices were raised in unpleasant-sounding staccato chants. Quite an averagely attractive bunch of teenage boys, really.
"The netball team is all girls, Shan. Their supporters are mostly boys, that's all. They like watching girls."
"Junior girls? Why would boys want to watch eleven and twelve year olds?"
"Probably because they have to do cross-country running if they don't watch the game. Or maybe they heard St Cat's were coming."
"Our girls are only Juniors as well, Megan!"
"Yes, Chauntaille." She looked at me sadly but said no more. What on earth did she mean?
Our supporters had arrived, and filed demurely into the seats at the very end of the hall. They were greeted by a deafening chorus of lust-crazed male adolescent voices. They grinned back in a friendly and engaging fashion, and the cheers turned to catcalls and piercing whistles.
"I hope things don't turn out to be too unpleasant," I said. "There are only thirty or so of our girls."
"Plus the cheerleaders," Smegs reminded me, as a door opened at floor level and our St Cat's cheerleaders' team made their appearance. Their appearance had changed a little since I had last seen them. Their tops were no longer elasticated below the bust, but now hung down loosely a short way. And they had fluffy pom-pom things to wave around to help inflame the spectators. Their hair was tied up in huge pink ribbons, making them look like birthday presents. They stood in a stiff little row, looking at one another, the howls of the crowd washing around them.
"Where's Angelica?"
"Here she comes. Wow! She must have been having a problem with her top."
We were a long way back from the scene of the action, but one thing was clearly obvious. Angelica had been having a problem with her top. She had been and she still was. She kept tugging it down, but as fast as she did, it rode back up again. Her bra was purple. Even from up here at this exalted level in the spectators' gallery, we could see the undersides of her bra cups. There was a lot of surplus Angelica bulging out of the neckline, too, and a certain fullness around the sides.
"The Grow shouldn't have worked as quickly as that," I hissed at Smegs.
"Since when did that stuff work the way it ought to?"
Comparative silence fell as the girls went into their opening routine. I had to admit, they looked quite impressive in motion. Far better than when they were standing still.
"Jeezus!" Smegs shook her head. "Only eleven, too!"
I had been thinking much the same thing myself. It was a disgusting display. Those pelvic thrusts were altogether too explicit. It was just as well they didn't know what they were doing. "I must have a word with our Miss Grimbeau about this," I said. Smegs said nothing. She was too busy plunging a hand down inside the front of her skirt and panties to caress herself intimately. I knew that because, as usual, my hand was already there before hers. "Get your hand out of there and put it down my skirt," I suggested. "Oh, you already have."
We snuggled closer together under our blanket and watched the girls prancing and waving their fluffy thingies in the air.
"I've got a horrible feeling about Sally Chung," I said suddenly.
"So have I! Is it the same as yours?"
"I hope not."
The cheerleaders went into a particularly exuberant version of their ever popular stomp stomp routine. "Eat 'em up Puff-ies! Eat 'em up!" (stomp stomp) "Eat 'em up, Puff-ies! Eat 'em up!" The first repetition of the "Eat 'em up!" was accompanied by a leap into the air. They went up with commendable togetherness, but Sally Chung appeared to come down more slowly than the other four.
"That's not possible, is it, Megan?"
"She's scared of coming down in case she busts something."
"She can't stay up there, defying gravity."
"Nor can her tits. I think she's got a loose counterweight or a broken strap."
"What will happen?"
"It's anyone's guess. Normally, if you get bra failure with tits that size, the recommended procedure is that you go carefully until you can get it off safely. You don't go leaping around... ouch! Like that!"
"Eat 'em up Puff-ies! Eat 'em up!" (stomp stomp) "Eat 'em up, Puff-ies! Eat 'em up!"
Sally descended as carefully as she could, but great forces were at work. Perhaps she mistimed her landing or something. Whatever happened next was a blur of events, like a speeded up section of film. As the other girls stomped and set off upwards again, Sally's feet hit the floor and her breasts carried on down. Down, down, down. The event was greeted by a roar of delight from several hundred newly broken voices.
Sally clutched at her descending masses, but as I could have told her, that just doesn't work. She even tried to carry on with the routine, but when she launched her body skywards, something in the region of 33.3% of her body weight was still on its way down. For a moment, she stood as if rooted to the spot, then lurched off uncontrollably at an angle. Watched by her horrified team-mates, by now past the stomp, stomp and into the "Eat 'em up!" Sally trotted briskly toward the front row of seats. Then she launched herself reasonably gracefully into the laps of half a dozen of the rudest and noisiest boys of Shagnasty High.
It is probably fair to say they were surprised. Exhilharated. Aroused, even. They recovered quicker than Sally. When she tried to haul herself to her feet — whether to run for the sanctuary of the changing rooms or to rejoin the cheerleaders, it was never clear — the boys grabbed her and held her down.
People talk about the death of team spirit in schools. Never again let me hear anyone say that about the girls of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls. Like four streaks of synchronised lightning, the remainder of the cheerleaders charged to the rescue of their fallen comrade. After a mercifully brief struggle, the girls bore Sally away through the doors; two of them carrying Sally herself, the others each taking one breast. And picking themselves up from the floor, six, or maybe eight, spotty faced youths clutched their groins and staggered away, retching.
Uproar had broken out. Although every member of the audience had witnessed the fall of Sally Chung, only a comparatively small number had seen the incident with the boys in the front row. The entire audience stood up to get a better look, so they all ended up seeing nothing. Only the double doors slamming shut behind the cheerleaders, with a panic-stricken Angelica staring after them.
In the best traditions of show-biz, she decided The Show Must Go On. In a flurry of fluffy pom-pom things, she launched into a chorus of 'Eat 'em up, Puffies!'
"The girl's got talent, Shan!"
"Yeah!"
To judge by the activity beneath our blanket, we were both finding the spectacle quite arousing.
So were our girls in the audience. They had fallen silent during Sally's incident. Some of the larger ones were imagining themselves in a similar situation. Probably some of the smaller ones were, as well.
Now, fired by the antics of their Miss Grimbo, they stood on their benches and roared out the chorus, "Eat 'em up Puff-ies! Eat 'em up!" (stomp stomp) "Eat 'em up, Puff-ies! Eat 'em up!" It was gratifying to hear that they were sticking to the authorised version of the words.
And in one of those moments which make live theatre such a magical experience, the door burst open once more and the four cheerleaders pranced in, and took up the chorus without missing a beat, adding a few touches of choreography of their own.
"Do you think they've been rehearsing those steps?" I asked Smegs. My spleen was in turmoil.
"Those four might have been. I can't imagine Sally ever doing them!"
Silence fell. The four remaining cheerleaders had gone into a huddle. Suddenly, they struck a pose, and launched into a new routine, a new chant: "She's young, she's hung, she's real low-slung — Sally-Sally-Sally — Chung Chung CHUNG!"
"Who writes these things?"
"God knows! Maybe they just make them up on the spur of the moment. Hey, here comes Angelica."
The cheerleading teacher came bounding up the steps two at a time and stood looking down at us, panting and grinning. "What do you think of the show so far?"
"Can't fault it," said Smegs.
"How's Sally?" I asked.
"Crying her eyes out. She thinks you're going to make her write something out ten thousand times in her best handwriting."
"Whatever gave her that idea? Tell her not to worry. I'll come and see her after the game."
Angelica relaxed. "Thanks, Headmistress!"
"Tell her I'll put her on pantie sorting for six months instead."
"That bra looks tight, Angelica." I could feel Smegs's excitement as she squirmed next to me beneath the blanket. From this low angle, we could indeed see the whole of the underside of Angelica's bosom. The bra was held away from her body by the escaping pressure of her breasts. At least a handful was visible pooching out beneath each bra cup, the dark skin gleaming with sweat.
"I dunno how it got so tight all of a sudden." She tugged at it, trying to force it to contain her, then heaved at the too-small top again. "What are you two doing under there, anyway?"
"Us? Under here?" We withdrew dripping hands from each other. "Nothing!"
"All the girls are giggling about it! All these boys would be giggling as well, but boys don't understand about sex, fortunately. They're obsessed with penetration." Angelica suddenly squatted down in front of us. We could see right up her skirt. "If I wasn't in charge of team morale, I'd join you and watch the game. It's a great view from up here."
"You can say that again," I moaned. Matching purple panties. With a big dark wet patch right where you'd expect it to be. She noticed the direction of my eyes and bit her lip, but made no attempt to move. If anything, her thighs parted even more, if that were possible.
"Would there be enough room under that blanket for a little one?" she asked in a small voice.
"If you're good," said Smegs.
"Ooh, I'm good, all right!"
"Later, then? After the game? Tonight?"
"Wow, yeah! If I can last out that long!" The wet patch had doubled in area. Angelica stood up abruptly. "The teams will be coming out. I gotta go. Later, right?"
She bounded off down the steps between the ranks of slobbering boys.
"Okay, Chauntaille! Who was it said that using Grow on Angelica was going to hold the Uncontrollable Horniness at bay for twelve hours?"
"It must be wearing off extra fast for some reason."
"It's certainly made her grow extra fast."
"Yeah," I said dreamily. "Isn't it lovely? Anyway, if you can't handle the Horniness, you can always avoid her when we get back to St Cat's."
"Oh yeah? Any ideas how?" And to think, Smegs used to be the one who always knew what to do.
We watched Angelica's delicately twitching rump as she disappeared through the double doors. Smegs had replaced her hand on mine. That is, not on my hand, but on mine. I placed mine on hers. "I'm not sure I want to avoid her, anyway," she whispered.
I wondered if any of the girls had brought along a roll of industrial paper towel.
"We can't go out there looking like this, Captain!" The St Cat's Junior netball team was not exactly in open revolt, but it was unhappy about recent developments in certain areas.
"We have to go out," said Helvetica. "The Shagnasties are out there already. If we don't show, we'll forfeit the points. Think of the shame."
"Think of the shame if we go out on court with these things sticking out like this. You're all right. You've got a new ScatBra Puffmaster!"
"I'll take it off, if that's all that's bothering you." Helvetica was beginning to think that taking her bra off wouldn't be such a bad idea anyway: her new Puffmaster was already painfully tight. Miss Clitress was right. It didn't stretch very much at all.
The changing room door burst open and Miss Grimbeau burst in.
"What are you hanging around in here for? The other team has been out there five minutes already."
"We've got no bras," said the anonymous girl, acting as spokesgirl for the sans-soutiens-gorges.
"Bras? You haven't needed bras before..." The teacher looked around the changing room, which seemed somehow smaller than it had before. An array of puffy nipples thrust dangerously against the fabric of the St Cat's netball tops. The captain's top was more dangerously full than any of the others.
"You're bigger, too, Miss Grimbo," someone pointed out.
"How observant of you!" Miss Grimbo tugged her top down again, hopelessly. Surreptitously, she tried to adjust the body band of her bra. It felt as if there was more of her outside the cups than inside.
"We're all tingly, Miss Grimbo," said the anonymous girl. "We think it might be something we ate."
"So am I," Miss Grimbo confided. "I'd thought it was something else causing it, but maybe it's something we had in the restaurant. Anyways, you're not going to get bras until we get back to school, so you're going to have to get out there and play, even if your breasts do hurt."
"Oh, they don't hurt, Miss Grimbo, it's just the way they stick out."
"All those boys in the crowd, Miss!"
"They'll all point at us and laugh, Miss."
"We already asked Helvetica to take her bra off, Miss, but she wouldn't."
Everyone looked at Helvetica. She blushed deeply and prettily. "I didn't say I wouldn't. I just said it wouldn't stop the boys looking at the rest of you." She climbed out of her netball top and began fumbling with the hooks of the bra.
"That's a pretty colour, Helv."
"Nice pink. I wonder if mine will be like that."
"Why didn't you get one the right size, Vets?"
"I did. It was the right size. It fitted me this morning! Help with these hooks, Dawn, please."
The St Cat's Junior netball team was unprepared for the magnificence of Helvetica Bold's bosom when it was at last revealed. The unyielding Puffmaster had been doing a sterling job of containment. Once released, Helvetica positively jutted forth.
"Wow!"
"Bloody hell!"
"Sheesh! Oh, my! Helvetica, where did you get those?" Miss Grimbo gasped. She seemed on the verge of reaching out and touching Helvetica. There was a sheen of perspiration on her brow.
"They're mine, Miss. I've started developing."
The team chattered eagerly amongst themselves. Suddenly, their own little puffy thrusters seemed less significant. Perhaps they could play after all. They watched as Helvetica disappeared inside her top again. She stuck out an awfully long way. And the memory of those epic moons was strong in the minds of the whole team.
"Let's go, team!" Miss Grimbo sensed the mood of the girls. Led by their newly busty captain, these girls could conquer the world. She had not reckoned with the traditional British stubbornness in negotiation which had brought a once great industrial nation to its knees.
"Not yet, Miss Grimbo!" It was the anonymous girl, a born troublemaker if ever there was one.
"What is it?" The teacher was already halfway out of the door.
"We're not wearing bras, Miss. Helvetica's taken hers off. Maybe if you took yours off as well, none of the boys would stare at us, would they?"
"Me? Take off my bra?"
"Why not?"
"But I'm a..."
"An American citizen, Miss? In that case, you come from the Land of the Free. You don't look very free in that thing you're wearing. Take it off!"
"Yes, Miss Grimbo, take it off!"
"Off, off, off!"
"Off, Miss Grimbo, or we don't go out to play!"
Miss Grimbo stood rigidly for several seconds. Then suddenly she stripped off her inadequate cheerleader's top. The team gasped at the sight. The purple bra was filled way beyond its design capacity. Rich chocolate breast bulged out beneath the overtaxed body band. The space between the cups ached with bursting cleavage. The shoulder straps were stretched to the thickness of quick-cook spaghetti. Generous double-handfuls of breast blossomed between her armpits and the sides of the cups.
"I'll help you with your hooks, Miss," said the girl called Dawn.
The Shagnasty High girls had warmed up and were now standing in a forlorn group, slightly exhausted by the effort. Their captain was bouncing the ball in a jaded way, until it hit her on the foot and shot off into the hands of the crowd.
The referee came clomping up the steps and stood before Smegs and me. "Which one of you is the headmistress of St Cat's?"
"She is," said Smegs supportively.
"You're awfully young!" The woman had a permanently bad smell under her nose.
I stood up, despite Smegs's urging of me to stay sitting down. I realised why when my skirt fell to my feet, revealing a shamefully, shamefully large bottom in a heavily soaked pair of yellow panties. Standing one step beneath me, the referee gaped at my crotch with a scandalised expression. My second mistake was to offer her my hand. As Smegs' buried her face in the blanket, I realised that the hand I had offered in friendship was slick with the vaginal juices of my bestest friend.
"Chauntaille Gruntworthy," I said with a slight bow, "and this is Megan Mountains." As Smegs was sitting with her face completely covered, I did the next best thing and offered my hand for the referee to sniff. "That's Megan," I said.
Sometimes, one tends to say the right thing by instinct. Sometimes it comes out slightly wrong.
"Your girls are late," she snapped.
"Sometimes. It's unavoidable. Sexually active girls make mistakes and get caught out, even in the best-run societies." The expression on her face seemed to suggest that we were at cross purposes.
"Your team is long overdue!"
"There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation." At that moment, the doors were flung open and the cheerleaders went into a positive frenzy of pelvic thrusting as the St Cat's Junior netball team took the court. "There, I knew there was an explanation," I said, taking in the situation at a glance. "Their breasts have grown."
"Come and get 'em Puff-ies! Come! Come! Come! Come and get 'em Puff-ies! Come! Come! Come!"
"That's disgraceful, Smegs! Shameful! Who teaches them these things?"
"I think they write them themselves. I love the actions! Juniors are so wonderfully flexible compared to older girls."
"They shouldn't do it in a sports hall full of testosterone like this. It will end in tears."
"The only tears so far have come from those boys the cheerleaders saw off. The rest of them are scared stiff."
"Stiff, certainly. I don't know about scared. Oh, no, look at them now!"
Our female spectators had formed a conga-line and were snaking up and down the steps, bumping their hips wildly from side to side. "Come and get 'em Puff-ies! Come and get 'em Puff-ies!, Da Daa daa daa, Da Daa daa daa, OOf!"
On the final word, or grunt, the line came to a halt and performed a kind of communal thrust which rippled along the line like a great caterpillar. The girl at the front just happened to have come to a halt, knees parted, in front of a row of spellbound boys. Her thrust was the most abandoned of any, and took her front bottom to within millimetres of the nearest boy's face.
The line backed away and conga'ed off in search of another victim.
"We have to stop them, Megan!"
"Sit down, Shan. Forget the audience. Watch the game. We're fucking slaughtering them!"
We were, too. The Shagnasty girls were not concentrating on their play. When they weren't watching the cheerleaders, they were watching the cheerleaders' leader — who was now clearly and gloriously naked under her brief top — and when they weren't watching her, they were watching the rebounding breasts of the opposing St Cat's captain and her spectacularly puffy-nippled team-mates.
The score mounted by leaps and bounds. The Shagnasty girls were not helped by the fickle crowd, which had transferred its allegiance whole-heartedly to St Cat's.
At the end, when Helvetica Bold had called for three cheers for the gallant losers, the score was 97-0.
I congratulated the team in the changing room. They were in high spirits, and as I saw them in close up for the first time, their puffiness was even more spectacular than it had been when they had run out on to the court.
So was Angelica's.
"Has that top shrunk, Miss Grimbeau?" I asked her sternly. If I had been wearing glasses, I could have peered over the top of them.
"It must've done, Headmistress." She pulled it down again, but now it wouldn't even stay in place over her nipples for more than ten seconds before Angelica popped out into the open air again.
Not that I was objecting to that.
"A GOOD WIN last night, Helvetica, dear," said Miss Clitress, as she opened the door of the bra measuring facility and ushered the netball captain inside. "I don't really open until nine o' clock, you know. It's not even eight yet. Have you had your breakfast?"
"No. I wanted to catch you before the rush started."
"The rush? What do you mean?"
"We had a few girls growing. At the netball match."
"You too, hmm?"
"Me too." Helvetica flung off her raincoat with a flourish.
Miss Clitress raised an eyebrow, but she had seen it so many times before at St Cat's. "Where's your new PuffMaster?"
"I left them in the dorm. One of the others will be able to wear them. They're all such nice pretty colours."
"Take your shirt off, and let's have a look at you."
This time, Miss Clitress raised the other eyebrow. In fact, she raised both at the same time.
"Have you got another one my size?"
"No point in measuring you, love. You're way past a PuffMaster. It will have to be a proper ScatBra, and we're going to have to let those things stick out of the ends. It's a FreeTips for you, my girl!"
"A FreeTips!" Helvetica blushed ferociously. "Oh, my God! What will Mummy say? And Daddy!"
"It won't cost them any more than a PuffMaster, don't worry. And these things adjust themselves so much, it should fit you for quite a while. Although you do seem to have grown six inches since yesterday. Forty-four!" Miss Clitress showed Helvetica her thumb on the tape.
"Golly! Will I still be able to play games?"
"You'll be okay for a while. And there are lots of games you'll be able to play when you're too big and bouncy for netball. Here you are, then." Miss Clitress handed Helvetica a bundle wrapped in plastic. "Your ScatBra FreeTips Starter Pack. Sorry about the colours." She hugged the girl with a certain sadness, then patted her on the bottom. "Off you go and have your breakfast. I'd better get ready for the rush. All First Formers, are they?"
"Mostly." Helvetica paused at the door, pulling her raincoat over her head. "And there's Miss Grimbo as well. I think you'll be seeing her this morning, too!"
I sat up in bed, sweating, then lay down again. My heart was going thump, thump, thump. Or was it stomp, stomp? This was my bedroom. How did I... ah, yes! Had the others gone?
No sign of Corinne, and the only evidence of Smegs's presence was a pair of panties still stuck to the wall where she had flung them in her haste to get naked.
There was no sign of Angelica, either. Thinking back over the events of the evening, I tried to think where Angelica might have gone after she had exhausted the three of us. The dorms, perhaps? There would be plenty of opportunity there for an Uncontrollably Horny teacher plastered in whipped cream.
Shuddering, I got out of bed and headed for the en suite facilities. The floor was littered with clothes. I recognised various items: Corinne's sweater, one of Smegs's down-at-heel Reeboks, Angelica's too-small cheerleader's top. I picked it up and held it to my cheek as I sat on the loo, reflecting on life.
The dramatic split in the material was clear demonstration that our Angelica had grown dramatically yesterday afternoon. It was my fault, I supposed, but there had to be something wrong with the batch of Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus Special Brew Two. Surely, it shouldn't have worked as fast as it had. And the St Cat's Junior netball team had obviously had a go at the stuff as well.
Still, as Suzanne and Pansy would say, it was done now.
And we still had the problem of Angelica's Uncontrollable Horniness. The only way to control it was to grow her, but if an application of Grow was only going to keep her quiet for four or five hours, we were going to be worn down to a frazzle by Angelica before another week had passed.
Time to take a look into the immediate future. Assume another week of Uncontrollable Horniness and Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus Special Brew Two before we could get some of the girls to work on Controllable Unhorniness.
In a very few days, Angelica had grown from something like a forty-inch bust to something more like fifty inches. All this athletic leaping around had also reduced her waist by a couple of inches. We had been measuring her last night until Smegs had been suddenly overcome by lust and smothered Angelica with two simultaneous can-fulls of whipped cream. This had diverted us from the task in hand.
Another week like this?
We could confidently expect Angelica to be into the mid-sixties by then. It wouldn't please Clit very much as it would play merry hell with her stock control. But would it be altogether a Bad Thing? Probably not. Even Smegs, who normally became decidedly grumpy every time someone else developed a bigger bust than hers, showed every sign of being so lust-crazed by Angelica, that she would feel the same way that I did.
The more there was of Angelica to love, the better.
"What are you all doing in here?" I asked.
Corinne smiled. "The same as you, obviously. And the same as Megan."
We were crowded together just inside the door of the bra measuring facility. Clit was guarding Angelica like a mother hen with a batch of new puppies.
"Get out," she snarled for the twentieth time. "This is private business between a wonderfully-developed young woman and her corsetière." And she flung a protective arm around the topless Miss Grimbeau. As if it wasn't bad enough the three of us falling madly in lust with Angelica, now Clit had done so as well.
"I'm Headmistress, I'm allowed to watch."
"I'm Support and Mobility Mistress. I have to be here."
We looked at Smegs, waiting for her excuse. "I'm Miss Grimbeau's friend," she said lamely. "And I'm bigger than you, Clitress."
There could be no arguing with that, although I feared that if it came to a punch-up, Clit might prove a dangerous adversary.
"Smegs is my deputy," I said supportively. "If anything should happen to me, she would step into the gaping void." It sounded a bit rude, somehow, and the others looked at me with distaste. "Anyway, we're all staying, so you'd better start measuring."
Clit snarled like a wild animal again, but unslung her tape from around her neck and draped it around Angelica's chest. Then she changed her mind and wrapped it around her bottom. I felt my mouth go dry. I suppose these things sort of average out. There's only a certain amount of fluid available, after all, and something like thirty gallons had just flooded down my legs and cascaded out under the door.
"For God's sake, somebody mop up that mess," sighed Clit. "It dries all sticky and attracts flies."
"What is it?" Smegs squeaked, pointing a trembling finger at the tape.
Angelica tried to see, but the numbers were round the back, out of sight. "Please, Miss Clitress," she whined. "I want to know, too."
"What do your measurements matter to you? Especially your hips and waist." Clit cracked the tape like a whip and dragged it round Angelica's middle. Even with her soft little tummy, she was noticeably more svelte than previously. Clit grabbed a piece of chalk and scrawled the numbers in the appropriate spaces on a large blackboard screwed to the wall.
|
Angelica |
|||||||
|
Bra Band |
Bust |
Waist |
25 |
Hips |
41¾ |
||
Smegs doubled over, clutching at her spasming groin. I had never known her to get as bad as this before over a silly bunch of numbers.
"Look, if any more of you women are going to have orgasms, you're all out. I don't care if you're deputy headmistress or the Queen of Fucking Sheba." Clit flourished the tape and slid it around Angelica's chest, beneath the plump mounds of her breasts, crowned with hugely-engorged moons and crested with nipples that pointed upwards at fifteen degrees. I do believe that woman was enjoying the whole thing.
The chalk hovered over the space marked Bra Band: then finally wrote 36. Then she went off and made a pot of coffee. Smegs crept closer to Angelica and reached out for the tape measure lying on the bench. Without even turning round, Clit snapped, "Don't you dare, Mountains! Lay one finger on that tape and you are dead meat. History. Kaput. Finito." She turned slowly, and drew a finger across her gizzard.
Smegs slunk back and joined us by the door.
"That's better!" Clit handed a mug of coffee to Angelica and took a gulp of her own. "Right, let's have your money!"
"Money?"
"What for?"
"The stakes. You can all have a guess at the bust measurement. A pound a throw. Winner takes all. Less my cut, of course."
Smegs dug into her back pocket and came up with a fistful of gold coins. She put one down on the workbench with a decisive click. "Forty-six," she said.
Clit raised an eyebrow and picked up the pound. It disappeared into her cleavage, the way a Junior girl would have disposed of it..
I found a pound and tossed it to Clit. "Forty-eight," I said confidently.
Smegs made a whimpering noise and produced another coin. "Forty-nine," she said.
Corinne plunged into her purse. "Fifty!"
"That's more like it," laughed Clit. "You having a go, Angelica?"
"I don't have any money..." She indicated her lack of clothing.
"Pay me later." Clit grinned. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling. "Well?"
"Forty-seven," Angelica said in a soft voice.
"Fifty-one," I said, conscious of going over the top slightly but unable to stop myself.
"Fifty-two!" Smegs was almost crimson with lust.
"Any more?" Clit raised an eyebrow and looked around. "Okay." She slung the tape round Angelica's perfect breasts. "I should have mentioned," she grinned unpleasantly. "You have to get the exact numbers. Not just the nearest. And none of you got the exact number." She wrote a number on the board then held her hand over it.
"What's it say?" Smegs was hopping up and down, wetting herself. It was a disgraceful display, but she was fetish mistress, after all.
"I don't think I'll tell you," said Clit, rubbing her hand against the board. When she took it away, there was nothing there but a smear of chalk. "You were all wrong anyway. All the money's mine!" She scooped deep into her bra, felt about in there for a while with a preoccupied expression, then tipped a handful of pound coins into a large enamel jug. They didn't reach the bottom: the jug must have been almost full. I bet she was always taking money off the girls with this same despicable trick.
"That's cheating," I told her weakly.
"You knew the rules. And the other rule is that you have to get out. Show's over. Nothing for you to see in here. I'm going to fit young Angelica with a new and exciting prototype bra, and you're not allowed to see it yet."
"A new prototype?" Corinne was getting as excited as Smegs. "As Support and Mobility Mistress, I demand to know about this. What's it called?"
Clit sniffed and exchanged significant glances with Angelica. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you a bit about it. It's an alternative to the FreeTips for girls who are too puffy to go out in public with their moons sticking out. Like Angelica, here. Imagine those enormous dark moons thrusting against an almost transparent white silk shirt. If she wore a FreeTips and a shirt around the town, she'd have to be locked up for her own safety. So it's a combination of the PuffMaster and the regular Scatty. I haven't thought of a name for it yet. Maybe we'll have to have a competition for the best name."
"What's it look like?" Corinne pleaded desperately. "At least you can show it to us."
"No chance." Clit grabbed a gigantic pair of scissors and advanced menacingly on the three of us. "Now get your fat arses out of here. Go and ravish some students."
Somehow, we made it through until lunchtime. Smegs had wanted to sneak round to the back of the bra measuring facility and look through the window standing on each other's shoulders, if you see what I mean, but we argued for a long time about who would stand on whose. Once Smegs realised that she wasn't going to get to see through the window anyway, she wasn't so keen. We broke up and drifted away to our classes.
I had the Thirds for Film Appreciation.
"Not porn videos again, Miss, please!"
"Yes, sorry. It's on the curriculum. Only by seeing how appalling these things are can you truly appreciate good quality film-making when you see it." I thrust a cassette into the player and the class slumped gloomily into its seats as a man delivering a large square package strolled whistling up the front path of a sunlit house. He knocked on the door.
"We've seen this one, Miss," complained Suzanne. "He goes in and this blonde woman is doing the housework in her underwear."
"No, it's not that one," claimed Pansy. "She's brunette and she's making sausage rolls in the kitchen."
"You're both wrong," said Anastasia, "She's a big fat black woman and she's just thinking of having a shower. See? I told you!"
"How do you know what she's thinking?"
"You can tell. Look, she's hot, she's mopping her forehead with industrial paper towel."
"It's not industrial paper towel. She's not at St Cat's. She's at home. They don't have industrial paper towel at home."
"My mum does."
"They're going to have a shower though, see? I told you."
"She's got horrible tits. Like sacks."
We watched sadly for a few minutes as the woman soaped her tits and the delivery man looked at her in a mildly lascivious way. He obviously didn't have a tight schedule this morning.
"What was in the parcel, anyway? She signed for it but then she lost interest straight away."
"Maybe she found something more interesting to get her hands on."
"What, that thing?" Pansy pointed at the screen. I could see what she meant. The delivery man's willie was nothing to write home about, in my opinion. In Pansy's, too, and she had an infinitely broader experience of willies than I did.
The action, for want of a better word, continued at a sluggish pace.
"Bor-ing!"
"Get it in her!"
"Come on, pal!"
"Jee-zus!"
The girls deliberately turned their chairs round, away from the screen, and struck up noisy conversations of their own. I was the only one watching the picture any more. The delivery man finally came, but he seemed to have the wrong idea, as it went all over the black lady's porky tummy. She lifted her breasts out of the way and rubbed it in with relish. Perhaps she had heard it was good for those problem stretch marks.
With a sigh, I turned the machine off. "Right, girls. I want a thousand words from each of you by next week on the video you have just seen. It was called..." I studied the box. "'Boobarella 3'."
"It's not, Miss!" Anastasia turned round and called over her shoulder. "That's the one with all those skinny little blonde women on the beach."
"With implants, Miss."
"Why do they bother, Miss?"
"Bother? What do you mean?"
"Getting such tiny little implants? Some of them can't have been more than 44 inches!"
"That's smaller than the First Formers, Miss!"
The girls roared helplessly at this absurd idea. Then they waited for a reply from me.
"I don't know. Some women aren't as lucky as us, so they have their breasts enhanced. I know it seems silly, but it's the best they can do."
"But they're all so small! And so unnatural."
"That's the way some men like them, Suzanne. They only do it for men. There's no accounting for taste. And talking of taste..." The lunch bell clanged down the corridor and thirty girls surged past me. In five seconds the classroom was empty. I ejected the cassette, thought for a moment, then tossed it in the waste bin.
"Wow! Look at Miss Grimbo!"
The entire restaurant looked at Miss Grimbeau and offered its opinion.
"Wow!"
The teacher appeared to be on the verge of backing out of the door again. She had only managed to get about two yards inside when she had been spotted by the student body. Too late now. Two hundred pairs of eyes were staring at her. Two hundred pairs of nipples, give or take a few, were hardening into deeply aroused spikes.
There may well have been other effects, less easily visible.
She tried to restrain her jiggle as she walked the twenty yards to the serving hatch. It didn't work. Something would have to be done about this bra. It seemed to have a will of its own. Some combination of the weight and size of her breasts and the elasticity of the bra material caused everything, everything, to bounce up and down at least five or six inches at every step.
She could control it if she stopped: stood stock still for a few seconds with both hands pressed to the sides of her fat breasts. In a school restaurant full of interested girls, this was simply not an option. She reached the serving hatch and took a tray. Things settled down a little up at the front.
"You've got the Runaways, Miss Grimbo!" A tall, very busty Fifth Former was grinning down at her.
"I got the what?"
"Runaway Jiggles. A lot of us get it. You either have to learn to walk smoothly, or see Miss Clitress about your jiggle dampers. Or both. I did both when mine started doing it. When I was twelve."
"Jiggle dampers?"
"In your bra. Didn't she tell you about your JD's? Jeez!" The tall girl abandoned her tray and bent to feel the sides of the teacher's breasts. A small but appreciative crowd had gathered. "Ah, it doesn't feel as if you've got any. Is this a new design?"
"Um, yeah. A prototype. I'm the first to get one. It doesn't even have a name yet."
"Well, you'd better take it back to her and tell her to put some JD's on it, before you do yourself a mischief." She cupped both of the teacher's breasts and bounced them up and down. The audience let out an "ooooh" of appreciation. "You're really heavy. Still growing?"
"I dunno. They're still getting a bit bigger, I guess."
"You can tell." The girl gave them an intimate squeeze. "It's funny. They feel ever so puffy at the ends, yet the shape seems to be rounded."
"Er, yeah." Angelica lowered her voice. The audience read her lips. "This is a special bra for puffy tit... breasts, when the areo... the moons are too big for a FreeTips."
"Wow, Miss Grimbo! I'd love to see them! Can you take it off?"
"What, in here?"
"I suppose not, with all these Juniors watching. Later, perhaps? In the Fifths dorm?"
"Certainly not!"
"Come on, you lot!" The woman behind the serving hatch leaned over and brandished her spoon. "Move it!"
The tall girl began pushing her tray along the hatch again, pointing to various items with a disdainful finger. She ended up with spotted dick and custard. "You're sure, Miss?" she said, as Angelica came up behind her in the queue. "You've got lovely tits, Miss!"
"For the last time, no! I've a good mind to take your name and report you to Miss Gruntworthy. You have molested me in the dinner line..."
"Hey, lighten up, Miss! I only had a quick feel. Same as you were doing to the other teachers the other morning." The girl patted Angelica affectionately on the bottom and slithered away with her loaded tray. She joined a giggling table of Senior girls as Angelica slunk away, trying to walk smoothly. She succeeded in reaching an empty table, preventing the Runaway Jiggles by resting her breasts on her tray.
"You've got custard on your tits, Miss Grimbo!" A Junior appeared with a roll of industrial paper towel, ripped off several sheets and wiped the teacher's undersides vigorously.
"Oh. Thank you..." she started to say, but the girl had gone.
"What's the matter, Angelica?" I sat down next to her. She was trembling. "You look quite pale."
She looked up at me with a startled expression, like Bambi. "A girl was fondling my breasts in the line. The queue."
"Wow! Some people have all the luck. Who was it?"
"A tall girl. In the Fifth Form. Big breasts?"
"That narrows it down. Most of the Fifths have big breasts. Some have huge ones. Quite a few are tall. Blonde, was she?"
"Yeah, blonde."
"Could be any one of half a dozen."
"She invited me to the dorm tonight! She said she wanted to see my breasts without my bra."
"Gosh! What time? Can I come?"
"I'm not going. It's preposterous, Headmistress."
"You're not? You haven't got a date or anything, have you?"
"A date? No."
"Good. 'Cos I'd like to see those things myself. Are they still growing? Clit's a right little bitch, chucking us out this morning. What is your bust, anyway? I bet one of us had the right number."
"Fifty-three!" She kept her eyes downcast. I could feel the heat of her blush from right across the table.
"Fifty-three?" Several girls looked up, interested. "Fucking hell!"
"Shh-hh. Please! Don't tell everyone. It's terrible. I've grown thirteen inches in only a week!"
"It's fantastic, Angelica! And looking at your puffies this morning, you haven't stopped growing, either."
The girls were nudging each other delightedly. Angelica shook her head and kept her eyes on her plate. She was biting her lip in a way I found utterly captivating.
"Uh-oh! Excuse me! Woo-woo-woo-woo-WOW!"
Scattered applause rang out. A little bit dutiful, I thought, as if the idea of the headmistress enjoying an orgasm at the lunch table was just a little old hat. A Junior girl obliged with the industrial paper towel.
"Thank you, Clytemnestra." The girl blushed and gave a little curtsey. "Write out a hundred times, in your best handwriting, 'I Must Not Snigger Childishly While Wiping Love Juice From The Inner Thighs Of My Headmistress In The School Restaurant', and let me have it by tonight. In Miss Grimbeau's room."
The girl began to cry and had to be comforted by her classmates.
"Come on, Angelica! You can show me your titties. Just me. Never mind the others, they're just horny tarts. It's different with me. I really love you."
"Don't, Headmistress, please!" She dashed a tear away from her eye with a finger, then stood up abruptly, scraping her chair noisily on the floor. I am always telling the girls about doing that. "Sorry, Headmistress," she stammered, and dashed off. I watched her big bottom twitching in the scarlet latex skirt and her plump breasts rebounding mightily beneath the taut black silk of her blouse. She needed some attention to her JD's.
That silly Angelica! She had left her spotted dick and custard untouched. I pulled the dish towards me and tucked in.